Winterfell belongs to the Starks
by ClearlyNotAWriter
Summary: The Kingdom of the North needs an heir, with powerful vassals proposing deals. Jon Snow shouldn't be concerned, he isn't a Stark. But the queen says there should always be a Stark in Winterfell, and the solution she arrives at enrages the Lord Commander, but he seems to be the only one. [set after ASOIAF, though it ended in my own way.]
1. Courting

**This story is inspired by An Affair In Stages, by justadram, a story also posted here. The setting is after the books, in my own 'ending' for the series. The War for the Dawn ended in about 302, two years after ADWD. The Seven Kingdoms are no more, instead each region having a king or queen. This story takes place around 309 AC. Jon IS NOT A TARGARYEN, instead being, truly the son of Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne. The pairing will be JON/SANSA, and yes, its incest. Disgusting, yeah.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own ASOIAF or its adaptations. GRRM rules all that.**

**There will be more chapters to come, but this one is a start. Enjoy!**

* * *

It had been years since Jon felt anger. He couldn't even remember the cause, maybe it was Ramsay, or Petyr Baelish. His life had become peaceful since the war between men and the Others had ended.

As the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jon Snow managed to bring the order back from its shambles. Although no wildling enemies left, the fear of something coming from beyond the Wall once more was enough a reason for it to survive.

He had help, however, from many men coming from all over Westeros to take the black, some willingly and others forcefully. Ser Brynden Tully was the head of the Shadow Tower and had been a tremendous help, even in his old age. On East-Watch-by-the-Sea, the commander was Dagmer Cleftjaw who had a way of confronting pirates, as he had been one.

On Castle Black he had Sam, Dolorous Edd, Thoros of Myr and others. They were few and the work was harsh, but Jon was hopeful. They could make the Watch strong again. They had to. And since The Seven Kingdoms reverted to being, truly, kingdoms, Jon was less worried about it. There would not be a war for the Iron Throne, anymore.

But now here he was, in Winterfell, on his father's chambers, being asked a revolting favour from his sister. To give her child.

"No." was all he said. He hadn't really listened to her reasons, after Sansa explained the reason behind her inviting him for a private talk. He thought he was wanted for company, as family.

"Jon." She said softly. Her eyes were pleading, and he could see that it took her courage to ask for something like this from him, it wasn't a jape or some drunken spur. Sansa was certain of what she wanted, and that made Jon feel guilty. He should listen to her, even if his answer wouldn't change.

"Why?"

"I told you why." She said, sighing. "Winterfell needs an heir. Arya will not marry or bear children, Bran can't and wouldn't either. I'm the Queen in the North, of Winter, but I'm still a woman. Winterfell belongs to the Starks, and that will not change." she finished firmly, but Jon could sense that she was worried.

"I'm not a Stark." He said, immediately regretting it. "Fuck! No, that doesn't matter. I'm the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, my vows keep me from fathering children, you know that." It wasn't that either. "I'm your brother. This is madness."

"You are a Stark." she answered simply, running out of patience. "You are a wolf."

"You can't be serious." He said, ignoring her statement. He had accepted his fate; he was Ned Stark's bastard. He knew his mother's name now, but it didn't matter. He was a Snow, like many others, and that didn't bother him anymore.

"I am." she took a step forward, to prove it.

Jon sighed, tired. Pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, he let himself speak. "Father would think it absurd; your lady mother would be wroth; Arya and Bran wouldn't agree with it either; can't you see that it is a bad id-"

"Father and mother are dead!" she yelled at him, and Jon was shocked. He knew his sister had masks most of time, thanks to what she was taught by Cersei, Littlefinger and others. But he never saw her yell like that, after meeting again. "They died and left us behind, so now we are the ones making decisions. Their memory is important, but so is their legacy. And I intend to keep it alive."

The Lord Commander was at a loss for words. The favour was madness, he could never lay with her, he knew that. Even if she demanded it or even imprisoned him, Jon Snow would not give his sister a child. This would be a battle of resolves, and he would win.

* * *

After excusing himself to his chambers, Jon couldn't sleep well. He stayed up for most of the night, waking up slightly late on the next morning. Having breakfast on his room, the Lord Commander decided that avoiding the Queen of Winter was the best idea for now. He was angry still, and she should have some time to think again, after yesterday's conversation.

He decided to help train some of Winterfell's guardsmen, the younger ones. Brienne of Tarth was the one responsible for such a task, but Jon convinced her that he could teach well, having done it before.

The Winterfell staff was scarce when they finally had peace again, with many servants being new and young. The cook was no longer Gage and the smith was Mikken no more. Jory and Ser Rodrik were dead, but Brienne was doing a fine job as both positions. Jon recommended having someone else become the Master-in-Arms, so the Knight of Tarth could focus fully on protecting and tending to Sansa, but she was adamant about it.

"There's no one better to train the green boys now, my lord. All of Winterfell's best fighters died on the War for the Dawn or before, and I can do both just fine." she had answered. Jon didn't question her skills, but her face showed signs of exhaustion from time to time. He apologized and didn't mention it again.

Among the students assigned to him today, one was a girl. She had just arrived, and Brienne was training the older ones, claiming to not be exactly good with children, although Ser Podrick seemed to disagree.

The girl was named Tess, a pretty common girl, dressed in boyish clothes. Her hair was up in a ponytail, light brown locks falling to her face, partially obscuring the scowl she was wearing. She listened and did as told but seemed extremely dissatisfied with Jon, so he asked her why.

"I want to be trained by Ser Brienne Knight, not you. M'lord."

The answer amused him, managing to have him chuckle. He explained why he was the teacher and said that Brienne had much work on her shoulders, so he was helping ease it a little. He also explained her that there was no need to add 'Knight' to her name.

"I can guarantee you that I can teach you some things. If you listen and learn, Ser Brienne might even be impressed. She likes people who follow their duty, and I will tell her how well you do yours."

The smile on the girl's face told Jon that he probably said the right things. Soon she was beating up the boys quite easily, while Jon urged them to also learn from their fellow training partners.

Jon walked round them, focusing only on the task at hand, until his eyes locked with shining blue ones. He stopped for a moment before resuming his class, though now stealing glances to where she was. Sansa watched the entire time, although from time to time she would attend to some request from the staff. The attention was making Jon's skin hotter, and the feeling wasn't appreciated. The training was cut short, and the kids were sent home to rest. The girl gave him a smile and ran towards where the Knight of Tarth was. He waved her goodbye before facing his sister, from afar.

The steps he took were slow and steady, as if trying not to frighten her. When he was close enough, a woman appeared beside the queen. He waited for her to speak, and recognition came moments later. Beth Cassel was the daughter of Ser Rodrik and had become something close to a head maid inside Winterfell, managing most of the women's work, even the older ones.

"Lord Roose Ryswell just arrived, together with Wanton Dustin. Now it makes four, together with Gawen Glover and Eddard Umber. It seems that a Karstark is also coming, my lady."

Both women seemed unhappy about these visitors, especially Beth. She made a face mentioning Roose and after questioning about where she should put all these men, complained about how unsubtle they all were, if not hungry.

Jon didn't understand why so many important people were gathering on Winterfell, but he guessed that they were envoys for high lords and Sansa was planning something important, though he didn't press for more information.

When his sister dismissed the maid, the latter nodded and turned, finally looking at him. Her eyes lit up strangely before whispering something to the queen's ears. Sansa shook her head slightly and that brought a scowl to the Beth's face. She then glared at him before leaving.

Jon stood in front of Sansa Stark with his shoulders tense, while she had a relaxed posture. The silence endured for a while, until he asked about how diplomacy with other kingdoms were going. Such information wasn't common on ravens sent to Castle Black.

"Uncle Edmure is easy to please, if anything else. He is easily swayed by his vassals, so I am giving some counselling. He is prideful and sometimes dislikes my comments, but soon comes around."

Jon heard from the Blackfish that his nephew wasn't fit to rule as king, because of his kindness and inexperience ruling. It seems the man didn't exactly want to own a crown, but on the Great Council he went on and on about how the Riverlands had suffered on every war and that he didn't want any more suffering for his people. In the end, they made him king also.

"Asha Greyjoy and Arianne Martel are allies, I would think. Although none would come to my aid, both think it's good that I am queen, instead of Bran." Jon could understand why. They were the only queens beside Sansa, and all were very tired of following commands and orders from men.

"What about Tyrion?" the Dwarf King of the Westerlands had not gotten his throne easily. Most wanted Martyn or Tyrek Lannister to rule, while others wanted another house to take control, stating that the Lannisters were the ones who messed up the balance since Robert took the Iron Throne. Tyrion became king by promising to rule seven years, and then the western lords would decide if he should keep the crown or another would have his place. Witty and smart as always, Jon could feel that he would keep his seat until his death.

Sansa chuckled. "He is doing fine it seems. This is his last year, but he seems confident and cheerful. Maester Hugo has been updating us on how the Westerlands are doing, and it seems they are faring well. King Tyrion is popular, and most high lords are profiting well under his rule. It is likely that he will be king for more years to come. It seems that he is even looking for a high born lady to be his wife."

"Is he now? I imagined that weddings would be best avoiding, for him."

"He is. But he needs an heir. He will do what's necessary." She was staring intensely at him, and Jon heard the hidden message. He cleared his throat and asked about the Vale, the Stormlands and the Reach.

"Ser Davos is doing wonderfully in helping young Edric rule, most lords are completely loyal now. It seems that he also has gathered all of Robert's remaining bastards and given them aid. Even Arya's friend, Gendry. Though not all are under his roof, such as Mya Stone."

Jon Snow and Gendry had met a few times, especially during the War for the Dawn. He worked as a smith to infuse many weapons with dragonglass. Ser Davos was the one to tell him about his father, and the boy didn't seem very glad. He was stubborn and didn't believe it at first. After Arya introduced them both, they became friends easily. He was now working on Storm's End, under his brother. He doesn't accept the surname Waters, though, and is reluctant to accept Baratheon as well, just as other lords feel it is a mistake to bestow him with it. King Edric, though, insists.

"Ser Davos and Tyrion are so different, yet so good with words. I wish I had such skills, it would've spared me some stabs." he japed, to which Sansa didn't laugh. She wanted to talk about it, Jon knew. But speaking outside was a bad idea; he didn't want anyone to know that the Queen of Winter was considering incest to keep her family on the throne.

She stayed silent for a while, and he waited. Sighing, she continued telling him about the remaining kings.

"The Reach just ended their war, with House Tyrell as the rulers. The food situation seems bad still, but I've been told King Willas is listening carefully to the Citadel on what to do about it. Some still want to back Dickon Tarly or Erren Florent, but nothing to be worried about."

When asked how he felt about his father's claim on the throne of the Reach, Sam responded with one of his usual shrieks. The thought of his father as king had him in fear, but when the man died, Sam seemed to think that Dickon wouldn't be a bad ruler, stating that his mother did her best to raise a kind son.

"And the Vale?"

She sighed. "Sweetrobin has become more and more reckless lately, his obsession with me has not subsided, though he now wants to have many wives. Bronze Yohn is doing his best to have other lords and ladies appeased, but it is not easy. I'm afraid they might depose him, or even murder." Sansa spent many moons disguised as Alayne Stone, the bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish, in the Vale. Robin Arryn was expected to die, but he has been steadily recovering from his abuse of drugs, although mostly physically.

"You sure worry about him" Jon stated, although he didn't intend offend her.

She didn't take it as a statement, but rather as him criticizing. "He IS my cousin. I've taken care of him before, even if it wasn't an enjoyable job. Lysa and the Eyrie household messed up his mind, and Petyr had the maester mistreat him with sweetsleep and other drugs. He is broken now, and it isn't his fault." She finished, scowling.

Jon nodded. He knew she misunderstood his intention but explaining himself now seemed like a waste of time.

Her face lost its tension and she closed her eyes before sighing again. "Things are rough for everyone. I feel glad that northman are simple minded and easy to please, mostly. Though they can be rather stubborn at times."

Her eyes bore into his again, reminding him of the blue skies of summer. He thought of his own, the storming grey of winter, and suddenly he felt his chances of victory dwindling. But like Eddard Stark, Jon Snow could be as cold as ice when needed, something Sansa had forgotten.

"Yes, they can."

* * *

Winterfell had hosted many grand dinners and parties before, Jon knew. The castle was as old as the Stark name and even in recent history it had seen kings' arriving and rising, festivals and weddings. The staff could always manage food and drinks enough for all invited, with enough diversity for the Starks to be known as great hosts, though now things were different. The North had suffered greatly, and that affected the harvests as well, with the harsh winter destroying much of what was growing.

The castle's staff was doing its best, no one could deny that, though supper was much more modest than before. Jon didn't want to attend it, but Sansa insisted. It seems that the envoys present wanted to speak with him.

The wine was too sweet and the bread too hard. His cup was never empty, thanks to all maids present. He decided to stop drinking altogether, until Benfred Karstark, grandson to the late Arnolf Karstar and eldest son of Arthor Karstark, sat beside him. He had horrible scars alongside his face, with only half of his left ear, and some teeth missing. He was taller than Jon, and appeared strong, with broad shoulders and a thick neck. He had long dark brown hair and a beard, and certainly enjoyed talking.

"Father has sent me here four times now, and it won't be the last. I told him these scars of mine ain't what a queen is looking for on a man, but he dismisses it. I know my chances are thin, but after seeing these others, I'm somewhat hopeful." he told Jon. Maester Martyn had been sending letters to Castle Black informing of all lords who were circling Winterfell, waiting for the right chance to offer a marriage deal.

"I recall you having brothers." Arthor Karstark had become the commander of the Karhold army, after Stannis used his father as a sacrifice for R'hollor. They were not exactly willing allies, but Stannis wasn't exactly a man who most enjoyed following, anyway. His sons jumped on Karhold succession quite a bit after that, though still behind Harrion, the current lord and Alys Thenn, his sister.

"I do, three of them, aye. But Hother is wed and Jonos is dead. The youngest is only ten and one. My betrothed died, so he thinks I'm best. 'A Karstark is a Stark, we are kin.', he says, but I don't think so, truly." He downed another cup and asked for more, also filling Jon's cup.

They agreed on it. Karlon Stark had lived hundred years ago, and so much blood has been mixed up with the wolf's, it was foolishness to think that the Karstarks were more kin than the Umbers or Manderlys, who had Stark women marry into the family recently.

"You should say somethin' to yer sister. These younglins want the crown and won't stop until she chooses one. They've nothing to lose."

His advice swirled Jon's mind the entire evening, with his attention being shifted from all of Sansa's so-called suitors. He watched Roose Ryswell whisper in her ear all throughout supper, even hearing some of his boastings when he got too excited. She replied courtly, though her eyes didn't match her smiles.

Gawen Glover asked for three dances, performing well in all of them. He was about to ask for the fourth when Beth Cassel crossed his path, took his hand and showed him a bright smile. They danced four times after that.

Wanton Dustin was extremely shy for someone who was trying to court a lady, especially a queen. He almost never looked her in the eye, and rarely spoke more than a few words. Jon imagined he didn't come out of free will, instead being forced by his liege, Lady Barbrey Dustin. Sansa engaged in conversation with him, more than once. Doing most of the job, she would make sure that he had part it in, even if just to answer her questions. Wanton relaxed after it, but the others tensed.

Eddard Umber was the heir to the Greatjon, although his father was still alive and strong. He was just as tall, yet certainly more handsome. He had his face shaved clean, with long black hair in a ponytail. He discussed swords and armours with Ser Brienne and would always offer Sansa wine. His manners were certainly better than his fathers, but Jon could see the remnants of the low cunning of Jon Umber. This one was the most ambitious, it seemed.

Benfred Karstark drank and laughed, told stories and made fun of himself and the other suitors, who did their best not to act offended. Sansa, however, was amused and usually chuckled at his japes. They seemed much more like friends than lovers, and Jon felt respect for the man. His sister deserved to have a good time, not fake courtesy.

"Is the dais so interesting, my lord?" asked a voice beside him.

Beth Cassel was dressed quite prettily, with a long-sleeved dress, dark green in colour. It pushed her breasts up and showed quite a bit of skin. The look was unusual for her, but Jon didn't stay long enough to see her on such events, so he guessed the attire was normal. She was wearing a smirk, also, while looking at Jon pointedly.

"No." he answered.

The smirk died and gave way to a frustrated look. She sighed before serving herself some wine, taking a sip. She locked eyes with Gawen and waved, a wink soon following. When she turned back to the Lord Commander, it changed into a glare.

"Have you danced yet, my lord?" she asked sharply, which Jon answered with a shake of his head. She smiled again and nodded towards the dais. "Queen Sansa is eager to, I can tell. But these lords are all too handsy, especially Gawen." she said.

Jon arched an eyebrow. "You gave him four dances." he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes before calling a maid over. She whispered something in the girl's ears and took an olive from her plate. She ate it, taking the olive stone and placing it on a plate over the table. She sipped again on her wine before speaking. "He's enjoyed Winterfell's hospitality more than thrice. The Glovers are powerful vassals, yes, but the man can't take a hint. She has no eyes for him."

Jon was watching Robett Glover's eldest son, whose face showed that maybe too much wine had been consumed. He accepted to have another fill when Benfred offered, though the man was laughing while doing so. Sansa was trying to stop Karstark, but she seemed to be having fun.

"She has no eyes for any of them." Jon could see she spoke true. Sansa engaging in talks with all of them, yet didn't seem particularly glad about it. Neither did Ser Brienne, who clearly despised their attempts at seducing her queen. Sansa's eyes eventually found his, blue on grey. Jon Snow could feel his body tense under her gaze, and that was absurd. She was his sister, same blood. There was no reason to fear.

They kept their staring contest until a gasp caught their attention, followed by the sound of places kissing the floor. Ghost had entered the Great Hall, unannounced as always, and had scared a poor girl. He didn't pay her much thought and headed to the dais. His eyes, though, were on Jon's, until he reached his destination: right beside Sansa.

Smiling, she scratched the top of his head and welcomed the direwolf. He seemed content with it, sitting down and yawning. The visitors went tense, even carefree Benfred Karstark, watching the huge animal standing so close. The music resumed and slowly the noise from talking rose again.

When he faced Beth Cassel, the smirk had returned to her face. She excused herself politely and stood up, walking towards the kitchens. Jon emptied his cup and focused solely on the musicians. They were singing romance, song after song. It had been Roose's notion, he knew. Jon had seen him whisper things to the singer and passing the man a gold coin.

Movement caught his attention, and a jar pouring wine for him appeared on his vision. The maid left too quickly, but he protested anyway. His focus went back to the music and he recognized the current melody. It was called the Black Rose and told the story of Margaery Tyrell and her attempts at becoming queen. Jon knew little of such tales, but it painted the girl as the most innocent maid in history, and he doubted it.

Once more, he noticed someone beside him reaching for his cup, and this time he was fast enough. He grabbed their wrist, stopping the person.

"I don't need more wine, thank you." He told the woman. Though he noticed too late that she wasn't holding anything, and her grey dress was too pretty to be a common girl's. When he looked at her face, a smile was on her lips.

"I can see it, that's why I've come, to rid you of such responsibility." said Sansa Stark, the Queen of Winter. She sat down as soon as he let go of her and adjusted the chair to stick closer to him. Her eyes dart to the dancing floor, watching some maids have her fun.

He saw Benfred take a younger girl to dance and swirl around loosely, laughing all the way, with the lass mirroring him. Gawen Glover was beyond saving, being escorted by some of Brienne's underlings. Roose and Wanton were speaking together while glancing in their direction. Eddard Umber had retired to his chambers.

The silence was unnerving, so Jon decided to break it. "The castle seems much more lively than last time I visited.".

"You didn't stay for long; you never do." she said softly, still not looking at him. It was true, though. As Lord Commander, Jon has many things to attend to, so spending much time going back and forth between the two castles was problematic. However, most of the black brothers had little problems with it. Sam and Dolorous Edd do well running things in his stead, and the respect Jon has earned from fellow night's watchmen gives him such liberties, yet he rarely makes use of them.

"The Wall is where I belong."

Facing him then, with her left hand on his arm, she said something Jon has wanted the most as a child. "You belong here as well."

And though Jon could sense that she meant something else, he chose to let silence take over, enjoying his sister's company and the soft singing of the bards. Maybe he should stay another day or two, he thought, and soon night gathered and Ghost followed him back to his chambers.

* * *

**I can't tell when the next chapter comes, so wait on it, please. If you have any ideas or complaints, be it on the text or the plot, send those to me.**

**Thank you for your attention, until next time.**


	2. Blue eyes

**Hey guys, chp. 2 is here. Here's a plea: think of Gawen Glover as a 19-year-old man, though by 309 AC he is younger than that, about 14 or 15 in canon. Made the mistake, but still want to keep the dates.**

**Also, decided to shift the idea a bit, and fumble a bit more with the Starks' inner demons, especially Jon's. But the pairing and general plot stays the same.**

**Characters' ages:**

**Benfred Karstark: 36**

**Brienne Tarth, Roose Ryswell: 31**

**Jon Snow, Eddard Umber: 26**

**Sansa Stark: 23**

**Wynton Dustin: 21**

**Arya Stark, Beth Cassel: 20**

**Bran Stark, Gawen Glover: 19**

**Disclaimer: I do not own ASOIAF or any of its adaptations. GRRM rules all that.**

* * *

"Where have you been!?" asked the Queen of Winter. She was wearing a dark blue long dress, with a deep red cloak and a brown bear pelt. The subject of such anger was dressed much more simply: hard brown leather, with black trousers and a dark grey shirt. Her hair was cut short, and a hooded cloak was resting on her shoulders.

"I told you, I had business to attend to on Braavos." answered the girl, full of impatience. She was standing still, while Sansa was sitting on her throne. The discussion wasn't new, Jon could sense. Though both women had argued since the younger could talk.

"Yet you stayed away for much longer than planned."

Arya snorted, though kept silent. Sansa was about to yell again, when she noticed Jon standing close to the door. Her face showed relief, even relaxing her posture. Her sister read her movements, turning around with a confused expression. When her eyes met Jon's, a big smile was placed on her lips.

"Jon!" shouted the youngest Stark woman, running towards him and throwing herself at him. They both hugged tight. When they parted, the Lord Commander noticed that on her waist were two knives, one on each side, and her sword. He grinned, unsheathing the blade and looking at it. It had been years since Mikken had taken the request to forge it, and it always felt nostalgic.

"You haven't lost or broken it yet." He commented. Arya took it from his hands and swung it around, tossing from one hand to another.

Her face was full of pride when she said: "Of course! It has been with me on much harsher places, always fulfilling its job. Needle won't break, ever."

Jon didn't feel as happy as he tried to appear, for the though swimming around his head wasn't a pleasant one. His sister used the blade to kill, and not only on self-defence, he knew.

He shook his head slightly to erase such thoughts from his head. He died and came back to life, Bran became the most powerful greenseer and warg there was, Arya had become a master assassin and disguiser, even Sansa was much more cunning and manipulative than most believed. Things changed, and it was past time he accepted that.

"You were in Braavos, then?"

She nodded; chin held high. "Yes. There's some people who deserved a visit, and I was eager to pay."

Jon held down a shudder. "Close friends?"

A thoughtful look flashed on her face. "More like business partners."

"And how's Gendry?"

"Oh, he's fi-" the look she gave him was more embarrassed than angry. "Fuck you."

Jon chuckled. Ser Davos had written to him about his little sister's appearance on Storm's End, reporting that Ser Gendry was much more cheerful that week. He eventually asked why, and it didn't take much time for the smith to slip and tell him about her. Something about how wolves are way too hungry and insatiable.

"May I join you in your conversation?" asked an impatience Sansa Stark. Arya turned to him and rolled her eyes, while Jon only laughed softly. They both walked towards the throne, and soon their sister was reprimanding them both. Arya for always stay out too long, and Jon for not seeing a problem with it. "If you just sent a raven…" she finished, sighing.

Arya for one looked a bit guilty, though her defiant attitude wasn't dropped. "I'm pretty sure I did, sister."

All three knew she was lying, though none said anything.

"What about Bran?"

Sansa pinched the bridge of her nose and answered, eyes closed. "He's at Greywater Watch, again. He has been traveling back and forth between the two castles a lot lately, though the reason remains a mystery to me."

Ever since fleeing from the Three-eyed Raven and the Children of the Forest, Bran was much more reclusive than before. His cheerful nature was almost never shown now, though Jon saw flashes of it when the boy met his siblings again. Now he spent most time at the Godswood, or at the seat of House Reed.

"He's among friends." Arya told Sansa, which the latter nodded. Though he could understand the sentiment, after all, they had been apart for a long time and not by choice. It was natural to want your pack around.

A voice rippled through their silence then. "He is returning already, my queen."

Maester Martyn was an old man, average in height, though not in weight. He was big around the belly, though he seemed content about it. 'I have a large head, so it looks more natural like this.' he had told the Lord Commander once. He had white beard and almost no hair at the top of his head, though he used headgear to hide it.

He had been of great help, Sansa had said. Always patient, sometimes too much. He also had a fascination with Bran, and both would usually spend nights talking and sharing knowledge.

The news was welcomed by the siblings, who spoke a bit more about how things have been and their future plans. Sansa omitted her proposition to Jon from the conversation, but judging by Arya's face, Jon guessed she had felt the tense atmosphere between her brother and sister.

* * *

"I've known these woods since youth, my lords. I assure you, a black-horned stag will appear, if we keep looking around this place." said Gawen Glover confidently. Beside Jon, Benfred Karstark snorted quietly.

Gawen had boasted of his knowledge about the Wolfswood through the entire breakfast, telling stories about wonderful beasts that he and his father had hunted. Though Jon had also heard about the mystic black-horned, golden furred stag before, he guessed such an animal wouldn't have survived the last winter.

The cold during the attack of the Others was something none of them would ever feel again, and since it also affected areas around Winterfell, it was obvious that much of the wildlife had perished.

But all men were eager to prove themselves more worthy of Sansa's hand, especially to each other. When Beth Cassel had told Sansa that their meat supply was almost empty, all men present were fast at suggesting a hunt. Except Jon, of course. He had felt Ghost's excitement, though. Jon had expected to be excused such an event by stating that he would leave soon, but maester Martyn told him a raven had arrived from Castle Black, telling them that Jon could stay longer, as Sam and Edd were doing fine up there.

Now here they were, setting camp for a four or five-day hunt. He would share a tent with Arya, who somehow convinced them that she should come as well, stating innocently that Sansa often listened to her advices, and made decisions based on them. When Roose Ryswell answered that her presence would be most welcomed, the Stark woman had grinned at Jon.

"I would say we're not deep enough into the forest. I sense that we will find only rabbits and foxes around here." said Roose Ryswell, while inspecting the bushes and trees around them.

Ghost was the one who found the clearing, which had been useful. It was a bit far from the river, but Gawen stated that the distance was ideal. The stag wouldn't notice their camp, so they could sneak closer to the waters and wait for the animal to come for a drink.

Jon was tasked with making the bonfire. He had finished minutes before, now sitting close to it, holding his hands out to warm them up. The discussion went on for a while, until Eddard Umber intervened, saying that it was too dark to change places now. They should rest.

"Pricks. Bet they haven' hunted here before the War for the Dawn. So much noise would have caught the attention of a bear or a pack of wolves, by now. We should pray this stupid stag is bloody deaf, or this whole trip was for nothin'." Muttered Karstark, while sitting down. He had a pot in his hands, but something told Jon he wasn't about to prepare dinner.

Sure enough, soon after there was wine heating atop the campfire.

"This some good fire you put out for us." he praised.

Though close to the heat, he couldn't help but shudder. "Fire helps to keep things away." he found himself saying.

There was no answer to his comment, so Jon focused on watching the flames dance. It reminded him of Melisandre, and how she sought wisdom and answers on the fire, just to read most of it wrong. Jon had come back because of her, but Shireen's blood was on her hands also. The woman was mad, but it was because of her that he could feel cold or warm again.

"Lord Commander, you alright?" asked Wanton Dustin. He was eyeing Jon hesitantly. About to answer, he noticed that Longclaw had been drawn. The flames he was watching were the ones reflected on the blade, and it seems the action was unconscious. He sheathed it back before answering, voice rough.

"I'm fine, aye."

"Is it alright to let the princess wander?" asked the shy man.

Jon nodded. "She can take care of herself."

Soon Ghost returned from his own hunt, with a small brown rabbit between his teeth, blood dripping to the floor. He looked at them pointedly before walking towards a tree and resting there, dinning.

All men were around the bonfire now. The skies were darkening, and the only light besides the flames was of the full moon above them. Though winter had ended years before, they all felt cold.

"Should've brought a heavier pelt." grumbled Roose Ryswell. He had long dark brown hair, put up in a ponytail. His eyes were dark blue, though brown flecks could be seen if you watched close enough.

"True. I expected much warmer nights." agreed Gawen Glover. He had short brown hair and deep green eyes. Not much beard on him, though the man didn't shave either.

Eddard Umber was sharpening his sword with a whetstone. He stopped to inspect the blade, before resuming his work. "It could be worse." he said ominously.

The words sent a shiver down Jon's spine, though he remained quiet. Others present held their tongue as well, so silence reigned for a while. Jon was about to stand and leave to retrieve some water, when the question arrived.

"Where're you when the Others crossed the Wall?" the usual cheerfulness of Benfred was absent from his voice. He was staring at the flames with much intensity, as if also looking for answers. "I was travelling back to Karhold, from Winterfell. I've heard the news a few days too late, when their army was already on the march. We did our best to reach Winterfell before them. It was harsh, but we had t'make it."

Jon remembered the relief from seeing the Karstarks again. They were not many, but the more the better.

"I was at Deepwood Motte. My father and uncle were going to Winterfell, but we should remain home. My sister and I were scared to death. What if the creatures turned and marched towards our castle?" a visible shiver shook his body, hands clenched.

Roose Ryswell was shaking his left leg up and down. "I was a commander in my father's army, heading towards Winterfell. I was cynical of these Others everyone feared. Young and stupid, only when they arrived that it dawned on me. I was going to die and become a bloody walking corpse." he sniffed, taking his gloves off and scooting closer to the fire.

"I was also left behind, at Barrowton. Can't remember much, only the panic. And the cold." Wanton Dustin had been a child by then, like many others. His father was also fighting alongside Jon and died in the process.

So many died that night. Jon couldn't even remember them all, guilt settling at the bottom of his stomach. It was chaos, there were too many soldiers. Even more fighters. But he should remember them.

The sound of the whetstone came to a halt. The man didn't look up to speak, but Jon could see it might be because he didn't trust himself to speak without showing weakness.

"I was feeling myself at the time. Heir to Last Hearth, after all. But in that battle, I finally understood that talent and confidence could do so much. Soldiers much better than me were being devoured and cut down. I would too, weren't for that wildling, Tormund."

Jon remembered seeing Eddard Umber always beside his father, a cocky attitude displayed full front. But when the going got tough, the man had been overcome with panic, he was told. Tormund finished the wight that was about to murder Greatjon's heir and yanked him up by the collar. 'If you're scared, go hide in your mother skirts, boy. This is the song of men.'. He laughed when telling Jon the story, though the man in front of him now didn't seem to find it funny.

"Hard to hate those wild bastards after you see them fight on your side." commented Benfred. "Brave and unyielding, they marched forward against those creatures without hesitating. Though they could have used better tactics."

"Made me feel like shite, trembling in my fine armour and sword, while they only had pelts and hard leather."

Jon chuckled.

"How did you manage to have them follow you?" asked Roose.

Jon opened his mouth to answer but couldn't find the words. He furrowed his brows in thought and tried to focus on memory. "I infiltrated their ranks, before." He started, though things seemed blurred. "Met some of their commanders, even the king. They weren't evil savages." He said firmly, though he couldn't exactly say why he felt like that. "When Stannis imprisoned their king, they had no leaderships left. I was Lord Commander then and did my best to avoid filling the army of the dead's ranks, so I gave them shelter."

He omitted Ygritte from the story, mostly because it didn't concern these strangers. But one big reason was that Jon couldn't exactly remember her, not everything at least. His time with her had been important, he could feel that, but his memory betrayed him. It had been doing so since he came back from death.

"Did they also… you know…" started Gawen, though he never finished the sentence. Jon motioned for him to continue, but it was Eddard Umber who replied.

"Stab you."

The question didn't surprise Jon. He expected people to want more information surrounding his death. He had left some details out of the letter he sent to the northern lords, explaining everything, especially the forsaken of his vows.

He tended to the fire for a while before answering. "No. Only the Night's Watch.". _Only his brothers._

"What does it feel like?" asked Wanton.

Jon managed a weak smile. "I don't know. My mind went to Ghost's body." he explained.

They all nodded, not pushing for more. Ghost had walked towards the fire and was standing next to Jon, eyes focusing on the flames. He was the first to hear her, appearing from behind a tree with two brown beavers, one in each hand. She tossed Gawen one of them and sat down between Ghost and Roose, taking a knife out to skin the animal.

They all watched her in surprise, except for Karstark and Jon. They had seen her during the war.

"What were you speaking of?" she asked, without taking her eyes off her prey.

"Past." Jon answered simply.

She hummed. She then watched the bonfire, noticing the pot dangling over it. "Is it wine?"

"Aye."

"Want some." the laidback way she said it had Benfred Karstark stumped for a second, before pouring her a cup. She sipped on it, before letting it beside her. "So, what are we remembering about? First women?" she said, looking them all in the eye. When Wynton and Gawen turned red as a beetroot, she smirked. "Or maybe… first kill."

The conversation suddenly got much more tense. When no one answered her question, she simply sighed and went back to flaying the beaver.

"I saw one of them." said Roose Ryswell. "The cold ones. Atop a dead bear.". He was shaking. "He cut down one of my father's best swordsman like he was nothing. I despaired after that."

Jon nodded. He understood the feeling, having faced them as well. It was difficult to think of something more frightening than an army of tireless corpses, but certainly the Others were. When Jon saw the first one, the word 'beautiful' popped on his head. The creature was magnificent, in shades of white and blue, all clad in armour, atop a dead horse. When it cut through Grenn with one swift slice of its frozen blade, the train of thought had halted on cue, almost giving backlash.

They were so occupied with the army of the dead that one could hardly blame them for not seeing their commanders' approach. The plan was for the dragons to face them, though in the end only a feel succumbed to the flames of Daenerys' children. The remaining had to be defeated by men, and many perished while trying. Jon managed to take down two, with great effort. The first he had help from Jeor Mormont's son, Ser Jorah, though the man died in combat. He was exhausted from the fight, but he saw many wights slump down, unmoving. After that, it became a blur.

Tormund latter claimed that Jon charged at an Other recklessly, slashing, dodging and all-around rash. Ghost accompanied him and both fought in complete sync. In the end they defeated the cold one, who apparently howled before turning to shards. Valyrian Steel and dragonglass, alongside dragon-fire, had been the weapons used to win the battle.

The next morning everyone mourned their dead, even though most didn't feel exactly alive at the time. Daenerys Targaryen was especially shaken, though she did everything to hide it. She lost too much; her confidant and two sons. The green and cream dragons had perished, and the tears on her face were what made Jon realise that, aside from all her titles and fierce conquests, that was a six and ten girl who just saw her children die.

She then took armies south to fight Cersei but died on the explosion of King's Landing. Queen Cersei had gone down on history as the Mad Queen, blowing up her city, rival and throne in one long show of wildfire. It was kind of ironic, really. A dragon killed by man-made dragon-fire.

After that chaos ruled south of the neck, until Jon rode with some northern lords and settled on the ruins of the Red Keep. A council was called soon after, with every great lord still alive attending. Jon wanted someone like Davos or Tyrion to do the honours and speak, but all agreed that he should do it. He did as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, to show that he wasn't playing sides, though that didn't convince anyone.

In the end, they became kingdoms again. Jon pledged his life to the Night's Watch once more, Sansa became queen, Arya and Bran decided to stay in Winterfell. Things were harsh, but hopeful.

Everything started adjusting, after that. Some places with ease, others with war. It was desired to stay so, by Jon.

"You fought them, right?" asked Benfred beside him.

Jon nodded, facing him now. "Aye."

"Wish we had them down first." murmured Gawen Glover. All men seemed to agree, but Eddard and Benfred understood that it had been pretty difficult to lay out a plan at such times, and especially so to put it into practice.

"At least there's none of them left." the lack of confidence in Roose's voice was transparent.

The air became colder suddenly, though all did their best to ignore it. They sat and spoke for some time before Jon retired himself to his tent and tried to get some sleep, Ghost laying beside him.

The darkness around him morphed into the Lord's chambers of Winterfell.

Sansa appeared before him then, a bright smile on her face. She was carrying something in her arms, looking at it with much happiness. He walked towards her slowly, reaching close enough to touch her if he tried, but he didn't. Instead he shifted his attention to her lap. There, wrapped in a cloth and being help by Sansa, was a small boy.

His short hair was dark brown, just like Jon's. His eyes were dark grey, like Jon's. But he looked much more joyful than Jon had been in his childhood, from what Luwin had told him. His tiny little arms were reaching out to his mother, a wide smile on his lips. Ghost walked past Jon and bumped the boy's head with its nose, earning a gleeful laugh in response.

Sansa finally saw him then. Her eyes told Jon that she was proud of her son, _their_ son. "Look who's here, snowflake. It's daddy!" she told the baby, showing him a surprised face, before giggling as the baby replied. 'Addy! Addy!'.

Blue eyes locked on his again, much more serious now. "Want to hold him?"

The words held so much power over him, that Jon fell silent for a moment. He couldn't say no. He didn't want to either. He reached out and suddenly his body was rocking slightly, a tiny copy of him in his arms, giggling nonstop. His heart warmed in a way it hadn't in years. Even tears were fighting to escape his eyes, but he held them back. The boy was calming down, almost sleeping. Jon was about to hand him back to Sansa when he felt a hand in his shoulder.

"May I hold the babe as well?"

Jon froze immediately. The voice was so familiar. The softness in it was so rare when the Lord Commander was a child that he almost doubted his senses. Though the moment he turned, it all disappeared. There stood Lord Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell. His father. Jon passed him the child, never looking away from the man's face.

Eddard Stark held the child and said greetings to him, earning a soft whine as an answer. He quickly tried to calm down the boy, though it took some time before he settled.

"Your face is too scary, father." said Sansa, from behind Jon, though Jon could feel the smile on her voice.

His father had a light scowl on his face, which became a small grin seconds later. He kept rocking his grandson, who was almost asleep now.

"His grey eyes are closing now. My eyes. My heir. My legacy." he said softly, looking at Jon now, prideful. The words struck him hard, and once again his eyes were watering up.

But it all cooled down, once he heard someone speak from behind him.

"And mine."

It wasn't Sansa who spoke, yet when he spun around to look, he almost thought it had been. The same red hair, the same blue eyes, the same high cheeks. But the hardness lacing the words, the distaste plain on the woman's face, the way she looked at him like he had sinned, it couldn't be Sansa. But it certainly could be her mother.

"Lady Catelyn." He managed to croak out. She didn't reply, instead adjusting the skirts of her dress. They held contest, eye to eye. Finally, he found his tongue and spoke: "Will you not hold your grandson?" it was presumptuous, he knew. But the babe was real, it was her blood. And his. But then he blinked and before him stood Lady Stoneheart, all bleak and wounded, throat slit and hair white. Her eyes though, were blue. But not the right shade.

Her hand grabbed her throat when she spoke: "You know nothing, Jon Snow."

And then a chill travelled down his spine, almost freezing his whole body. He turned around fast, trying to find Sansa or Ghost, but found none.

_'My son.'_ He thought then and turned to where his father was. And when he did, his heart stopped. There he was, all dark haired and long faced. But the arms around his son, _his boy_, were bluish white. Ice armour laced the rest of the body and the cloth surrounding the child was slowly freezing.

Jon watched as the Other smirked at him, releasing a strange sound, one that Jon identified as a laugh. Jon reached for Longclaw, but he paused, thanks to movement coming from the heir to House Stark. Squirming and twisting, he was facing Jon now.

'Alive.' Jon thought. Eyes opened then, but no grey could be seen. Only cold blue.

"JON!" he heard. Darkness enveloped him, only for him to open his eyes soon after. Above him was Arya Stark, both hands on his shoulders and a panicked look on her face.

"Arya! Arya!" he panted, chest heaving up and down heavily. His right hand flew up to rub his face and his left tried to help him stand up. He breathed in deep four times before closing his eyes again.

"I'm here, I'm here." she answered softly. She was reaching for something, Jon could tell. Ghost nuzzled his arm. "Here, water."

Jon grabbed the flask and gulped everything down. He handed it back to her, still feeling thirsty. She eyed him worriedly, though kept silent.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The cold made him shiver, and Arya handed him his black coat. He asked for his cloak as well, though she complied only after staring at him for about five minutes.

She only spoke when he was halfway out the tent.

"Why were calling our father's name?"

The question confused Jon, but it was too much to tell now. He didn't want to remember it.

"Nightmare." was all he said. Her response came in the form of a sigh, eyes almost glaring now. She then laid down again, eyes closing. Jon whisper-thanked her and left. Ghost treaded before him, passing beside the other tents and heading to the lake.

The moonlit path he took was silent, a faint breeze passing through it while shaking the leaves above him. He saw a small brown bunny hop away from them, feeling Ghost's desire to hunt the small animal. The direwolf stayed, though. He did look at Jon pointedly.

When they arrived at the lake, the water was sparkling. He searched for a large tree to recline against, while his partner went for a drink.

Jon watched the waters swirl and a reflection suddenly appears on it. Black horns, golden fur. The beast looks so much like the Baratheon's banner that it makes Jon remember Stannis. His proposition. Jon had refused to take that chance then, but should he do it now?

It didn't matter, though. The stag didn't stand waiting for him to make up his mind. He left, and Jon was left alone, with only his direwolf sitting beside him, loyal.

When the morning came and they all went back to hunting, Arya convinced them to look for an easier target. What they wanted was food, not a pretty crown made of black horns. They agreed reluctantly, though soon enough they were invested in tracking down the biggest animal.

Gawen found two hares, Ryswell struck an arrow between a beaver's eyes, Benfred took down a boar, Eddard and Wynton had a moose killed, while Jon and Ghost found and hunted a bear. When they all returned to camp, Arya had a pair of huge aurochs laying on the ground.

* * *

The trip back to Winterfell seemed to be much shorter this time around.

Dinner was prepared and the men took turns telling Sansa their stories.

Jon excused himself shortly after eating. His chambers were warm thanks to the hearth, and soon after entering Jon sat down and poured himself some wine. He drank about four cups, eyeing the small flask of sweetsleep warily. He hated taking drugs, but the dreams…

He decided against it, stubborn as he was, and got up to undress. As he stood, only in breeches and boots, a knock echoed through his room.

"Who is it?"

"Sansa." answer a muffled voice. "Can I come in?" she asked.

Before Jon could tell her to wait, the screeching sound of the wooden door scratching against the stone floor halted his movements. His sister entered his chambers, still dressed in her formal clothing.

She closed the door behind her, eyeing him, up and down. She settled on his face and had an easy smile when she said: "You haven't told me of your gallant hunt of the mighty bear."

Her teasing tone only helped to make Jon even more uncomfortable. He grunted softly in response, earning a chuckle from her. She took small steps towards him, stopping about three feet from him; hands behind her; eyes scanning his room.

"It's too small." She commented. Jon shrugged, being rather content with it. It's the same from when he lived in Winterfell, before taking the black. He liked it just fine. Sansa, on the other hand wanted him to have the Lord's Chambers at first, but he had refused outright.

"It's fine." he replied simply.

"Ghost should have more space."

"He never said a word about it." he said, to which she giggled, amused. The atmosphere changed then, her face turning much more serious. She stepped even closer, with Jon mirroring her motion, though away from her.

She frowned a bit, before stepping closer. He copied her once more, though soon he heard a _thud_ and felt something pressing against the back of his thighs. Her eyes glinted at the sound, a grin forming on her lips.

So close now, almost touching. She rested her hand on his chest, tracing along one of his scars. The contact made his skin burn, but he stood still. She watched her own movements with mild interest.

"This one… it's from… that night?" she asked, and though Jon has faced many nights with danger creeping on him, he knew which one she was referring to. The night he died.

"Aye."

She hummed, tracing it one more time. Jon felt bile rising from his stomach, while an entirely different reaction was happening inside his breeches. He held both down, especially as the latter boosted the first.

She tilted her head up and suddenly Jon noticed how warm it had become since she entered the room. Their breaths were mixing up with each other, and both kept silent. Sansa was apparently trying to find something in his eyes, watching them intensely. Jon was trying to keep control.

Her lips parted slightly, a whisper coming from them, slowly, sweetly.

"I could help you finish…" her voice lingered, though Jon could hear the unspoken words. Her hand slid by his chest, neck, reaching up to his bearded chin.

But then he blinked, and for one swift movement he saw it again. Those striking blue eyes, that weren't Tully's. So alive in such dead bodies. And suddenly all heat left his body, only cold remaining.

He grabbed her wrist, catching her attention.

"I know how, myself."

The look she gave him then only made him feel hollower. And when she retracted her hand, he noticed that the last fragment of warmth he was feeling had vanished. He blinked twice before rubbing his face, watching her walk towards the door, without turning. She opened it while staring at him.

Halfway through the door, she paused and looked at him. "You know nothing, Jon."

When he laid that night, no dream disturbed his sleep.

The next morning, he bid goodbye to Winterfell, after breakfast. Arya begged him to stay, but he reminded her of his duty, which earned praise from Roose Ryswell and Gawen Glover. Sansa didn't show up when he was getting ready, but as he rode away the Kingsroad up to the Wall, one glance was enough to catch the dot atop Winterfell's battlements.

* * *

**Hope the "world-building" wasn't done horribly. Tried to fill the holes between ADWD and here, but it's hard.**

**Rate & Review, please. This chapter was a bit more difficult to make, but I have a feeling that chp. 3 will be out soon. Or not.**


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